Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Lucidity: A Double-Edged Sword

Mom's moments of true clarity have shrunk as the months since the bleed have passed. They are those rare moments that offer a brief sense of normalcy where she isn't endlessly repeating a word she heard half an hour ago, or speaking jibberish that doesn't make sense. Of course, in her head the words probably all make sense, because there she's using the words she wants to use, and instead the one spouting jibberish is me. Those lucid moments are craved and dreaded at the same time. Dreaded, because a few simple words can so easily break your heart at the full realization of what she's really feeling.

For example, this past weekend we were sitting in the nursing home patio enjoying the afternoon breeze after a very hot day, when she suddenly said "I'm afraid of forgetting", and I asked "forgetting what?", to which she replied "you." As a I spoke through the knot in my throat, I said to her "You'll never forget me, and I'll never forget you, because we love each other so much." She didn't say anything back, she was quiet. Peaceful. So I'll keep craving those moments of clarity for they offer me a window to what's in her heart and mind, and they give me the chance to address her fears in whatever small, inarticulate way I can, and as always, the chance to offer her my love.